What about the music? Well, I liked eight pieces, disliked four, and didn't feel strongly either way about the other four--a staggeringly high batting average for a new-music program. I was particularly impressed by Justine Chen's "Ancient Airs and Dances," John Corigliano's "Circa 1909," Daron Hagen's "Snapshot: Gwen and Earl's Wedding Day, December 20th, 1951," Paul Moravec's "Vince and Jan: 1945," and Chen Yi's "Burning" (the only 9/11-inspired work), all of which I want to hear again as soon as possible. Also noteworthy was Sebastian Currier's "REM," the shortest work on the program, a brilliantly effective little scherzo that will make a terrific encore piece.

Aside from the music, what struck me most forcibly about "Snapshots" was the extent to which it departed from prevailing norms of classical concertizing without degenerating into silliness or pandering. Unlike the Kronos Quartet in its heyday, the members of the Elements Quartet don't wear outré clothes (I'd call their outfits dressy-casual) or play "Purple Haze." Yet the feel of the evening was anything but sober-sided.

It's no secret that classical music is in increasingly dire straits. The recording industry is all but dead and the average age of concertgoers goes up every year. I myself don't attend very many classical concerts anymore, for reasons that I explained at length in "Death of the Concert," an essay included in A Terry Teachout Reader, out in April from Yale:

By the mid-Sixties, it was possible to purchase high-quality [recorded] renditions of virtually every important piece of classical music composed prior to 1910. Similarly, good-sounding hi-fi systems had become cheap enough for anyone to own. An entire generation of music lovers thus became accustomed to experiencing classical music not in the concert hall but at home. As the Horowitzes and Bernsteins died off, these listeners began to question the need to attend any public performances of the classics, whether by callow young artists or by middle-aged celebrity performers who had already committed their repertoires to disc one or more times....

Beethoven cycles and Tchaikovsky nights continue to draw crowds, and the celebrity system is still the backbone of the classical-music business. But the point of diminishing returns, especially outside the largest urban areas, has clearly been reached, and the recent experience of the classical-recording industry suggests that it is no less essential for soloists and orchestras to rethink the way they do business.

If they do not, the concert hall will someday become a place where old men and women gather forlornly to listen to the same symphonies and concertos they first heard a half-century ago, while their children, if they are interested in classical music at all, will stay home and listen to compact discs or whatever newer marvel is destined to replace them.

I wrote that essay in 1998. Not much has changed since then, though Michael Tilson Thomas and the San Francisco Symphony are by all accounts galvanizing local concertgoers with unexpected combinations of old and new music, beautifully performed and imaginatively presented. But they're a conspicuous exception to the numbing rule. I no longer go to hear the New York Philharmonic under Lorin Maazel, for example. I'm sure they play well, but I simply don't feel the need to see them live. I have more interesting things to do with my evenings. Similarly, I haven't been to a single classical concert at Carnegie Hall or Avery Fisher Hall all season long--and I'm a middle-aged listener who loves classical music passionately. Granted, I'm just one person in a big city, but if I'm not going to classical concerts, who is? And who will?

That's why "Snapshots" was so potentially significant an event. Unlike the New York Philharmonic, the Elements String Quartet went out of its way to offer a musical experience I couldn't even begin to duplicate in the comfort of my living room--which is why I made a special point of coming out to hear it on a dreary November night. So did a whole lot of other people, and judging by the eavedropping I did during the two intermissions and at the post-concert reception, most of them had a hell of a good time.

I don't think I need to append a moral to this story. As the Romans used to say, the thing speaks for itself. Let's just hope somebody out there is paying attention.

Posted November 19, 2003 10:21 AM

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